If Only It Was A Dream
by Ary-Gryphyn
Summary: Taylor, Lexi and Harry are starting their second year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but before they can go back they have to deal with Taylor and Lexi's mother, father and brother and Harry's aunt, uncle and cousin. It's not easy well until Fred, George and Ron Weasley show up in a flying car outside their bedroom window. Harry Potter rewrite/ R/R/ If Only Sequel
1. The Masons & Someones On Your Bed Harry

**Chapter 1- The Masons Come To Visit and Someones On Your Bed Harry**

**Taylor's P.O.V**

* * *

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Dad had been woken in the early hours of the morning by loud, hooting noises coming from Hedwig and Blaze, which then got Chair-Man-Meow hissing, my kitten.

"Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't control those owls, they'll have to go!"

We tried, yet again, to explain.

"They're bored," Harry said. "They're used to flying around outside. If we could just let them out at night-"

"Do I look stupid?" Snarled dad, a bit of fried egg dangling from his ugly, bushy mustache. "I know what'll happen if those owl's are let out."

He exchanged dark looks with mum.

We tried to argue back but our words were drowned by a long, loud belch from my younger brother, Dudley.

"I want more bacon."

Next to me, I heard Lexi mutter, "then get up off your fat bottom and get it yourself, you big git..." Then shove a piece of pancake in her mouth.

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said mum, turning misty eyes on Dudley who had become massive. "We must build you up while we've got the chance... I don't like the sound of that school food..."

"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings," said dad heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"

Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry.

"Pass the frying pan."

"You've forgotten the magic word," said Harry irritably.

The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; mum gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; dad jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.

"I meant please!" said Harry quickly. "I didn't mean-"

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU THREE," thundered his uncle, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"

"But he-" I tried.

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" roared dad, pounding the table with his fist.

"He just-" Lexi tried now.

"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITIES UNDER THIS ROOF!"

We stared from our purple-faced father to our pale mother, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.

"All right," said Harry, "all right..." I gritted my teeth.

Dad sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and watching us closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes.

Ever since we had come home for the summer holidays, dad had been treating us like a bomb that might go off at any moment, because we weren't exactly normal. As a matter of fact, we were as not normal as it is possible to be.

We were witches and Harry was a wizard - witches and wizard fresh from their first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if family was unhappy to have us back for the holidays, it was nothing to how we felt.

I missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant stomachache. I missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, the classes (though perhaps not Snape, the Potions master), the mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in my four-poster bed in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper, Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds.

All our spellbooks, wands, robes, cauldrons, and Harry's top-of-the-line Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by dad the instant we had come home. What did they care if Harry lost his place on the House Quidditch team because he hadn't practiced all summer? What was it to them if we went back to school without any of our homework done? My parents were what wizards called Muggles (not a drop of magical blood in their veins), and as far as they were concerned, having two witches and a wizard in the family was a matter of deepest shame. Dad had even padlocked Harry's owl, Hedwig, and Lexi's owl Blaze inside her cage, to stop her from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world. He'd even padlocked my cat, Chair-Man-Meow in her cage. But somehow she got out and wouldn't go back in the cage and if you tried to pick her up and put her in it, she would hiss, claw and bite.

Harry looked nothing like the rest of our family. Dad was large and neckless, with an enormous black mustache; mum was horse-faced and bony; Dudley was blond, pink, and porky. Harry, on the other hand, was small and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and jet-black hair that was always untidy. He wore round glasses, and on his forehead was a thin, lightning-shaped scar. Lexi had long wavy, dark brown hair that came down to her waist. She has dark brown eyes with a lighter ring around the outside, a narrow face and full lips. I looked almost the same except my hair was lighter and straight and it came to the middle of my back. I had a narrow face and normal lips. One of the only differences between us was that I had freckles across my cheeks and across my nose. Otherwise we were identical.

It was this lightning-bolt scar that made Harry so particularly unusual, even for a wizard. This scar was the only hint of Harry's very mysterious past, of the reason he had been left on our doorstep eleven years before.

At the age of one year old, Harry had somehow survived a curse from the greatest Dark sorcerer of all time, Lord Voldemort, whose name most witches and wizards still feared to speak. Harry's parents had died in Voldemort's attack, but Harry had escaped with his lightning scar, and somehow - which nobody understood why -Voldemort's powers had been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill Harry.

So Harry had been brought up by his dead mother's sister and her husband. My horrid parents. He had spent ten years with us, never understanding why he kept making odd things happen without meaning to, believing the story that he had got his scar in the car crash that had killed his parents.

And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Harry, and the whole story had come out. Harry had taken up his place at wizard school, where he and his scar were famous... But now the school year was over, and he was back for the summer, back to being treated like a dog that had rolled in something smelly. Excpet for me and Lexi who actually cared for and about him.

They hadn't even remembered that today happened to be Harry's twelfth birthday. Of course, Lexi and I made him a card. But his hopes hadn't been high; Mum and dad never given him a real present, let alone a cake - but to ignore it completely...

At that moment, dad cleared his throat importantly and said, "Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."

We looked up, hardly daring to believe it.

"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career," said dad.

Harry went back to his toast, Lexi to her bacon and me to picking apart my last pancake. Of course, I thought bitterly, dad was talking about the stupid dinner party. He'd been talking of nothing else for two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife were coming to dinner and dad was hoping to get a huge order from him (dad's company made drills).

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said dad. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia, you will be -?"

"In the lounge," said mum promptly, "waiting to welcome them graciously to our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering smile. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

"They'll love him!" cried mum rapturously.

"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry, Lexi and I. "And you three?"

"We'll be in our bedrooms, making no noise and pretending we're not there," we said together, tonelessly.

"Exactly," said Uncle Vernon nastily. "I will lead them into the lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them drinks. At eight-fifteen-"

"I'll announce dinner," said mum.

"And, Dudley, you'll say-"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" said Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed mum. Over-dramatic that was.

"And you?" said Uncle Vernon viciously to us.

"We'll be in our bedrooms, making no noise and pretending we're not there," we repeated dully.

"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

"Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason... Do tell me where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason..."

"Perfect... Dudley?"

"How about - 'We had to write an essay about our hero at school, Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you .' "

This was too much for both mum and us. Mum burst into tears and hugged him, while we ducked under the table so they wouldn't see us laughing. Lexi even pretended to drop her fork.

"And you?"

We fought to keep our faces straight as we emerged.

"We'll be in our bedrooms, making no noise and pretending we're not there," we said for the last time.

"Too right, you will." said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "The Masons don't know anything about you and it's going to stay that way. When dinner's over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten. We'll be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time tomorrow."

We couldn't feel too excited about this. I didn't think they would like him any better in Majorca than they did on Privet Drive.

"Right - I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for Dudley and me. And you," he snarled at Harry, Lexi and I. "You stay out of her way while she's cleaning." He pointed to mum.

We left through the back door. It was a brilliant, sunny day. We crossed the lawn, then slumped down on the garden bench.

Harry gazed miserably into the hedge. We had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, we missed our best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn't seem to be missing us at all. Neither of them had written to us all summer, even though Ron had said he was going to ask us to come and stay.

Countless times, Harry had been on the point of unlocking Hedwig's cage by magic and sending her to Ron and Hermione with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk. Underage wizards weren't allowed to use magic outside of school. We hadn't told mum and dad this; we knew it was only their terror that we might turn them all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking us in the cupboard under the stairs with our wands and Harry's broomstick. For the first couple of weeks back, We had enjoyed muttering nonsense words under our breath and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast as his fat legs would carry him. But the long silence from Ron and Hermione had made us feel so cut off from the magical world that even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal - and now Ron and Hermione had forgotten his birthday.

What wouldn't we give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? Harry said he'd almost be glad of a sight of his archenemy, Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been one amazing, extrodinary dream...

Not that the whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of last term, Harry had come face-to-face with none other than Lord Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power. Harry had slipped through Voldemort's clutches for a second time, but it had been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Harry kept waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, wondering where Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, his wide, mad eyes-

Harry suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. We looked where he had been staring absent-mindedly into the hedge - the hedge was staring back. Two enormous green eyes had appeared among the leaves. What the-?

Harry jumped to his feet just as a jeering voice floated across the lawn.

"I know what day it is," sang Dudley, waddling toward us.

The huge eyes blinked and vanished.

"What?" said Harry, not taking his eyes off the spot where they had been.

"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to him.

"Well done," said Harry. "So you've finally learned the days of the week." Lexi and I snickered quietly.

"Today's your birthday," sneered Dudley. "How come you haven't got any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"

"Better not let your mum hear you talking about our school," said Harry coolly.

Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat bottom.

"Why're you staring at the hedge?" he said suspiciously.

"He was trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on fire," said Lexi in a monotone.

Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face.

"You c-can't - Dad told you you're not to do m-magic - he said he'll chuck you out of the house - and you haven't got anywhere else to go - you haven't got any friends to take you-"

"Jiggery pokery!" said Harry in a fierce voice. " Hocus pocus - squiggly wiggly - "

"MUUUUUUM!" howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. "MUUUUM! He's doing you know what!"

Harry paid dearly for his moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any way hurt, mum knew he hadn't really done magic, but he still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave us work to do, with the promise we wouldn't eat again until we'd finished.

While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Harry, Lexi and I cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and repainted the garden bench. The sun blazed overhead, burning the back of my neck. I knew Harry shouldn't have risen to Dudley's bait, but Dudley had said the very thing Harry had been thinking himself... Maybe we didn't have any friends at Hogwarts...

It was half past seven in the evening when at last, exhausted, we heard mum calling us.

"Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!"

We moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.

"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped mum, pointing to six slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.

We washed our hands and bolted down our pitiful supper. The moment we had finished, mum whisked away the plates. "Upstairs! Hurry!"

As we passed the door to the living room, I caught a glimpse of dad and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets. We had only just reached the upstairs landing when the door bell rang and dad's furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.

"Remember, - one sound-"

We crossed to the bedroom we knida shared. Since our rooms were next to each other we asked if we could have a door put between the rooms. It was an interesting conversation. It went like this:

"Dad can we put a door between our rooms?" I had asked.

"Why would you want to do that?" Dad had asked back looking up from the newspaper he was reading in the living room.

"Well, you see, it's easier to practice spells.." Lexi didn't have to say anymore.

"No." He said plainly.

"Okay, so I can practice here? There is this one I've been wanting to try..." I smirked.

"Fine, we'll put a door in. So you can do it," he answered.

"Oh come on dad, you can say it can't you?" Lexi teased.

"Don't-push-it Alexis." We snickered and headed back to our rooms.

It wasn't until we were in the rooms that we started laughing.

So now we had a door between our rooms. I expected too hear Harry flop down on his bed but I heard nothing. I told Lexi and we went to investigate. We opened the door and saw that Harry had stopped dead in his tracks.

We looked around him and saw why. There was already someone on his bed. We hadn't even got back to school yet and I sensed we were going on yet another adventure.

* * *

**So? I know, it was taken off for about 4 hours, and during that time, I was reading it and editing, updating it, adding in little tidbits that you'll have to figure out. I won't let anything on, so don't ask. And, there will be something super interesting in the end of this one, once we get there, and something interesting in the next one, and the next one. Well, there will be interesting things in the end or in every single one... So, I guess it's just an interesting story. Well, now I'm just rambling on, so I'll let you go, but I thank you if you read all the way to the end. I'll make sure that Lexi does get you those brownies that she promised you in the first book. Wow, I'm rambling again, I'll leave you now. **

**-Taylor Waylor- **


	2. The House Elf and Ron Weasley

**Chapter 2 - The House Elf and Ron Weasley**

**Lexi's P.O.V**

* * *

We managed not to shout out, but it was close. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. I knew instantly that this was what had been watching us out of the garden hedge that very morning.

As we stared at it, I heard Dudley's voice from the hall.

"May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?" Suck up.

The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. I noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm and leg-holes.

"Er - hello," said Harry nervously.

"Harry Potter!" said the creature in a high-pitched voice I was sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir... Such an honour it is..."

"Th-thank you," said Harry, edging along the wall and sinking into his desk chair, next to Hedwig, who was asleep in her large cage. I wanted to ask, 'What are you?' but thought it would sound too rude, and Harry said exactly what I'd been thinking, "Who are you?"

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature.

"Oh - really?" said Harry. "Er - I don't want to be rude or anything, but - this isn't a great time for us to have a house-elf in my bedroom."

Mum's high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf hung his head.

"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," said Harry quickly, "but, er, is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," said Dobby earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you, sir... it is difficult, sir... Dobby wonders where to begin..."

"Sit down," said Harry politely, pointing at the bed. Lexi leaned against the now closed door and I sat on the edge of the desk.

To our horror, the elf burst into tears - very noisy tears.

"S-sit down!" he wailed. " Never ... never ever..."

I thought I heard the voices downstairs falter.

"I'm sorry," Taylor whispered from next to me, "he didn't mean to offend you or anything-"

"Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. "Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard - like an equal-"

Harry, trying to say "Shh!" and look comforting at the same time. We ushered Dobby back onto the bed where he sat hiccoughing, looking like a large and very ugly doll. At last he managed to control himself, and sat with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery adoration.

"You can't have met many decent wizards," said Harry, trying to cheer him up.

Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Don't - what are you doing?" Harry hissed, springing up and pulling Dobby back onto the bed - Hedwig had woken up with a particularly loud screech and was beating her wings wildly against the bars of her cage. I could hear Blaze in our room, waking up from his own sleep, but thankfully, he didn't make as much noise as Hedwig.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," said the elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir..."

"Your family?"

"The wizard family Dobby serves, sir... Dobby is a house-elf - bound to serve one house and one family forever..."

"Do they know you're here?" asked Harry curiously.

Dobby shuddered.

"Oh, no, sir, no... Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir-"

"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments..."

"But why don't you leave? Escape?"

"A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobby free... Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir..."

The three of us stared.

"And I thought I had it bad staying here for another four weeks," he said. "This makes the Dursleys sound almost human. Can't anyone help you? Can't we?"

Almost at once, Harry should've wished he hadn't spoken. Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude. Damn.

"Please," Taylor whispered frantically, "please be quiet. If the Dursleys hear anything, if they know you're here-"

"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby... Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew..."

Harry, who was looking distinctly hot in the face, said, "Whatever you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I'm not even top of my year at Hogwarts; that's Hermione, or Taylor here they-" He gestured to Taylor.

But he stopped quickly.

"Harry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-"

"Voldemort?" said Harry.

Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned, "Ah, speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!"

"Sorry," said Harry quickly. "I know lots of people don't like it. My friend Ron-"

He stopped again.

Dobby leaned toward Harry, his eyes wide as headlights.

"Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time just weeks ago... that Harry Potter escaped yet again ."

Harry nodded and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.

"Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later... Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts. His cousins either."

There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Dad's voice.

"W-what?" Harry stammered.

"But we've got to go back - term starts on September first. It's all that's keeping us going. You don't know what it's like here. We don't belong here. We belong in your world - at Hogwarts." I exclaimed quietly.

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. "Harry Potter and cousins must stay where it is safe. They is too great, too good, to lose. If they goes back to Hogwarts, they will be in mortal danger."

"Why?" said Taylor in surprise.

"There is a plot, Taylor Dursley. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year," whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it for months, sir. Yous must not put yourselves in peril. Yous is too important, sir and misses!"

"What terrible things?" said Harry at once. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall.

"All right!" cried Harry, grabbing the elf's arm to stop him. "You can't tell me. I understand. But why are you warning me?" A sudden, unpleasant thought struck me.

"Hang on - this hasn't got anything to do with Vol- - sorry - with You-Know-Who, has it? You could just shake or nod," he added hastily as Dobby's head tilted worryingly close to the wall again.

Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

"Not - not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named , sir-"

But Dobby's eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give Harry a hint. Harry, however, was completely lost.

"He hasn't got a brother, has he?" I asked.

Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever.

"Well then, I can't think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I mean, there's Dumbledore, for one thing - you know who Dumbledore is, don't you?"

Dobby bowed his head.

"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, sir" - Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper - "there are powers Dumbledore doesn't... powers no decent wizard..."

And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized Harry's desk lamp, and started beating himself around the head with earsplitting yelps.

A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later my heart thudding madly, I heard Uncle Vernon coming into the hall, calling, "Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!"

"Quick! In the closet!" hissed Harry, stuffing Dobby in, shutting the door, and flinging himself onto the bed just as the door handle turned.

"What - the - devil - are - you - three - doing?" said Uncle Vernon through gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Harry's. "You've just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer joke... One more sound and you'll wish you'd never been born!"

He stomped flat-footed from the room.

Shaking, Taylor let Dobby out of the closet, very carefully.

"See what it's like here?" Harry said. "See why I've got to go back to Hogwarts? It's the only place I've got - well, I think I've got friends."

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter? Or Misses Dursleys?" said Dobby slyly.

"I expect they've just been - wait a minute," said Harry, frowning. "How do you know my friends haven't been writing to us?"

Dobby shuffled his feet.

"Harry Potter and Misses Taylor and Lexi Dursley mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best-"

"Have you been stopping our letters? "

"Dobby has them here, sir," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of our reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. I could make out Hermione's neat writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, and even a scribble that looked as though it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.

Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry... Dobby hoped... if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him... Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir..."

Harry wasn't listening. He made a grab for the letters, but Dobby jumped out of reach.

"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No," said Harry angrily. "Give me my friends' letters!"

"Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice," said the elf sadly.

Before Harry could move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs.

Mouths dry, stomachs lurching, we sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. We jumped the last six steps, all landing catlike on the hall carpet, looking around for Dobby. From the dining room I heard Uncle Vernon saying, "... tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason. She's been dying to hear..."

We ran up the hall into the kitchen and felt my stomach disappear.

Mum's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.

"No," croaked Harry. "Please... they'll kill us..."

"Yous must say yous not going back to school-"

"Dobby... please..."

"Say it, sir-"

"I can't-"

Dobby gave him a tragic look.

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

The pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanished.

There were screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon burst into the kitchen to find Harry, Taylor and I, rigid with shock, covered from head to foot in mum's pudding.

At first, it looked as though dad would manage to gloss the whole thing over. ("Just our nephew and daughters -very disturbed- meeting strangers upsets them, so we kept them upstairs...") He shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised Harry he would flay him to within an inch of his life when the Masons had left, and handed him a mop. Mum dug some ice cream out of the freezer and we, still shaking, started scrubbing the kitchen clean.

Dad might still have been able to make his deal - if it hadn't been for the owl.

Mum was just passing around a box of after-dinner mints when a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a letter on Mrs. Mason's head, and swooped out again. Mrs. Mason screamed like a banshee and ran from the house shouting about lunatics. Mr. Mason stayed just long enough to tell our parents that his wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask whether this was their idea of a joke.

We stood in the kitchen, me clutching the mop for support, as Dad advanced on us, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes.

"Read it!" he hissed evilly, brandishing the letter the owl had delivered. "Go on - read it!"

We took it. It did not contain birthday greetings for Harry.

Dear Mr. Harry Potter and Ms. Taylor and Lexi Dursley,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school. (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks'Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

Ministry of Magic

We looked up from the letter and gulped.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school," said dad, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "Forgot to mention it... Slipped your minds, I daresay..."

He was bearing down on us like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared. "Well, I've got news for you, boy... I'm locking you up... You're never going back to that school... never... and if you try and magic yourself out - they'll expel you!"

And laughing like a maniac, he dragged us all back upstairs.

Personally, I didn't find this part fair. He hadn't even mentioned Taylor or I. How rude.

Dad was as bad as his word. The following morning, he paid a man to fit bars on Harry's window and on Lexi and mine's window as well. He himself fitted a cat-flap in the bedroom doors, so that small amounts of food could be pushed inside three times a day. They let us out to use the bathroom morning and evening. Otherwise, we was locked in his room around the clock. They obviously forget about the door between our rooms.

Three days later, they were showing no sign of relenting, and we couldn't see any way out of this situation. Harry lay on his bed watching the sun sinking behind the bars on the window and wondered miserably what was going to happen to him, while Taylor sat on the chair petting Chair-Man-Meow and I was sitting cross legged on the end of Harry's bed leaning against the wall.

What was the good of magicking ourselfs out of the rooms if Hogwarts would expel us for doing it? Yet life at Privet Drive had reached an all-time low. Now that they knew they weren't going to wake up as fruit bats, we had lost our only weapon. Dobby might have saved Harry from horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but the way things were going, he'd probably starve to death anyway.

The cat-flap rattled and mum's hand appeared, pushing a bowl of canned soup into the room. Taylor hurried through the door between our rooms and grabbed ours and brought it back handing one to me. Harry, jumped off his bed and seized it. The soup was stone-cold, but he drank half of it in one gulp. Then he crossed the room to Hedwig's cage and tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of the bowl into her empty food tray. She ruffled her feathers and gave him a look of deep disgust.

I gave mine to Blaze, whos cage I'd brought in.

"It's no good turning your beak up at it - that's all we've got," said Harry grimly.

He put the empty bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap and lay back down on the bed.

Supposing we were still alive in another four weeks, what would happen if we didn't turn up at Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why we hadn't come back? Would they be able to make them let us go?

The room was growing dark. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind spinning over the same unanswerable questions, Harry fell into an uneasy sleep. Taylor and I following soon not going back into our own room.

I awoke to the sound of rattling bars and looked to the window and I saw Ron. In a car. What? I got up and went to the window.

"Hullo Ron," I said rubbing my eyes.

"Hi Lexi, would you mind waking up Taylor and Harry?"

"Sure thing," I said and turned my back to the window and walked over to Taylor and shook her awake. I told her what was goinng on and she went to the window to talk to Ron. I went over to Harry and shook him.

"Stop it," Harry muttered as I shook him again. "Leave me alone... cut it out... I'm trying to sleep..."

He opened his eyes.

"Get up Harry. Ron's here."

"What?"

* * *

**Well? Tell me in the comments!**


	3. Flying Cars and The Best House Ever

**Chapter 3 - Flying In The Flying Car and The Best House We've Ever Been In**

**Taylor's P.O.V**

* * *

I stood by the window talking with Ron through the bars and had noticed that his older twin brothers, Fred and George, were there to.

"Ron." Breathed Harry, creeping to the window beside me. "Ron, how did you -? What the -?"

Our mouths fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit us. Ron was actually leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car, which was parked in midair. Grinning at Harry from the front seats were Fred and George.

"All right, Harry, Lexi... Taylor?" asked George.

"What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been answering my letters? I've asked you guys to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of Muggles-"

"It wasn't me - and how did he know?"

"He works for the Ministry," said Ron. "You know we're not supposed to do spells outside school-"

"You should talk," said Lexi, staring at the floating car.

"Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing this. It's Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles you live with-"

"I told you, I didn't - but it'll take too long to explain now - look, can you tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked us up and won't let us come back, and obviously I can't magic us out, because the Ministry'll think that's the second spell I've done in three days, so-"

"Stop gibbering," said Ron. "We've come to take you three home with us."

"But you can't magic me out either-"

"We don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat and grinning. "You forget who I've got with me."

"Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to Taylor.

"If the Dursleys wake up, we're dead," said Harry as Taylor tied the rope in some fancy knot that we'd learned in girl scouts - something we'd been forced into - I didn't care to remember them, but of course Taylor did. Anyways, she tied this knot tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.

"Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back."

We moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, and Blaze who seemed to have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. I picked up Chair-Man-Meow who had begun circling around my ankles. The car revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in the air. We ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car. I listened anxiously, but there was no sound from my parents bedroom.

When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed as close as possible to Harry's window.

"Get in," Ron said.

"But all our Hogwarts stuff - our wands - my broomstick-"

"Where is it?"

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this room-"

"No problem," said George from the front passenger seat. "Out of the way, Harry."

Fred and George climbed catlike through the window into Harry's room. You had to hand it to them, I thought as George took an ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock.

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning, even if they are a bit slow."

There was a small click and the door swung open.

"So - we'll get your trunks - you grab anything you need from your room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George.

"Watch out for the bottom stair - it creaks," Harry whispered back as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.

We dashed around our rooms, collecting things and passing them out of the window to Ron. Then we went to help Fred and George heave our trunks up the stairs. I heard dad cough.

At last, panting, we reached the landing, then carried the trunks through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbed back into the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window.

Dad coughed again.

"A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car. "One good push-"

Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid out of the window into the back seat of the car. That was the last of the three.

"Okay, let's go," George whispered.

"There won't be enough room," Lexi pointed out, examining the car. "Taylor, you'll have to sit on George's lap. Harry and I will squeeze into the empty spot next there." She informed us.

"What? Why do I have to? Why can't you?" I demanded.

"Because I don't wanna. Get on in there, Tay." She finished and I grumbled my disagreement as I climbed in and on to his lap.

But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of dad's voice.

"THAT RUDDY OWL!"

"I've forgotten Hedwig!" He exclaimed as Blaze and Chair-Man-Meow had already been loaded into the flying car.

Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on - he snatched up Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and passed it out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when dad hammered on the unlocked door - and it crashed open.

For a split second, he stood framed in the doorway; then he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing him by the ankle.

Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry's arms and pulled as hard as they could.

"Petunia!" roared dad. "He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!"

But the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid out of dad's grasp - Harry was in the car - he'd slammed the door shut-

"Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, and the car shot suddenly toward the moon.

I couldn't believe it - we were free. Harry rolled down the window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Dad, Mum, and Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of Harry's window.

"See you next summer!" Harry yelled.

The Weasleys, Lexi and I roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat, grinning from ear to ear.

"Let Hedwig and Blaze out," he told Ron. "They can fly behind us. They haven't had a chance to stretch their wings for ages."

George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig and Blaze soared joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like two ghosts.

"So - what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been happening?"

We told them all about Dobby, the warning he'd given Harry and the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence when we had finished.

"Very fishy," said Fred finally.

"Definitely dodgy" agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"I don't think he could," said Harry.

"I told you, every time he got close to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall." Lexi finished.

Fred and George looked at each other.

"What, you think he was lying to us?" said Harry.

"Well," said Fred, "put it this way - house-elves have got powerful magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

"Yes," said Harry and Ron together, instantly.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He hates me."

"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" said Harry.

I tuned out the rest of their conversation as I stared out at the horizon and scenery. It was beautiful. But something kept distracting me, every time we hit a bit of turbulence, or had to lurch to one side to avoid a bird or something, because every time that happened, George's arms wrapped around my waist to keep me from hitting that window or the inside of the car. I couldn't tell whether he realized he was doing it or not, because it was like it was just for safety, but then he would retract his arms after the car balanced out, almost shyly, or like he was embarresed about it. And it couldn't have been shy, because it's George Weasley and why would he be embarresed?

Suddenly, Fred laughed, bringing me from my thoughts. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad."

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes... Just as well, it's getting light..."

A faint pinkish glow was just visible along the horizon to the east.

Fred brought the car lower, and I saw a dark patchwork of fields and clumps of trees.

"We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery St. Catchpole."

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun was now gleaming through the trees.

"Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, we hit the ground. We had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and We looked out for the first time at Ron's house.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which I reminded myself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW . Around the front door lay a jumble of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens were pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much," said Ron.

"It's wonderful ," said Harry and Lexi happily, obviously thinking of Privet Drive, just like I was.

We got out of the car.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to call us for breakfast Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going, 'Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see Harry and Lexi and Taylor and no one need ever know we flew the car."

"Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the - at the top-"

Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. We all wheeled around.

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

"Ah, "said Fred.

"Oh, dear," said George.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips, staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.

"So," she said.

"Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty, winning voice.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs. Weasley in a deadly whisper.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to-"

All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they cowered as her rage broke over them.

"Beds empty! No note! Car gone - could have crashed - out of my mind with worry - did you care? - never, as long as I've lived - you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this from Bill or Charlie or Percy -"

"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You could have died , you could have been seen , you could have lost your father his job-"

It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself hoarse before she turned on Harry, Lexi and I who backed away.

"I'm very pleased to see you, dears," she said. "Come in and have some breakfast."

She turned and walked back into the house and we, after a nervous glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and I sat down on the edge of my seat next to Lexi, looking around. We had never been in a wizard house before, none of us.

The clock on the wall opposite me had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time to feed the chickens , and You're late . Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese, Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts - It's Magic! And unless my ears were deceiving me, the old radio next to the sink had just announced that coming up was "Witching Hour, with the popular singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck."

Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like "don't know what you were thinking of," and "never would have believed it."

"I don't blame you, dears," she assured Harry, Lexi and I, tipping eight or nine sausages onto our plates. "Arthur and I have been worried about you three, also. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if you hadn't written back to Ron by Friday. But really," (she was now adding three fried eggs to our plates) "flying an illegal car halfway across the country - anyone could have seen you-"

She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.

"It was cloudy, Mum!" said Fred.

"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley snapped.

"They were starving him, Mum!" said George.

"And you!" said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened expression that she started cutting bread and buttering it.

At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small, redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen, gave a small squeal, and ran out again.

"Ginny," said Ron in an undertone. "My sister. She's been talking about you all summer."

"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred said with a grin, but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without another word. Nothing more was said until all six plates were clean, which took a surprisingly short time.

"Blimey, I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last. "I think I'll go to bed and-"

"You will not," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "It's your own fault you've been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're getting completely out of hand again-"

"Oh, Mum-"

"And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. "You can go up to bed, dear," she added to Harry, Lexi and I. "You didn't ask them to fly that wretched car-"

We felt wide awake, I quickly added, "we'll help Ron. We've never seen a de-gnoming-"

"That's very sweet of you, dears, but it's dull work," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject-"

And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece. George groaned.

"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden-"

I looked at the cover of Mrs. Weasley's book. Written across it in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests . There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-looking wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who I supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at them all. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him.

"Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all right, it's a wonderful book..."

"Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that garden when I come out to inspect it."

Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with us behind them. The garden was large, and in my eyes, exactly what a garden should be. Our parents wouldn't have liked it - there were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting - but there were gnarled trees all around the walls, plants I had never seen spilling from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.

"Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry told Ron we crossed the lawn.

"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said Ron, bent double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat little Santa Clauses with fishing rods..."

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and Ron straightened up. "This is a gnome," he said grimly.

"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" Squealed the gnome.

It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.

"This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above his head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a lasso. Seeing the shocked look on our faces, Ron added, "It doesn't hurt them -you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find their way back to the gnome holes."

He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."

We learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. Harry decided just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome, sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he had a hard job shaking it off - until-

"Wow, Harry - that must've been fifty feet..."

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

"See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes at once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay put."

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

"They'll be back," said Ron as we watched the gnomes disappear into the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here... Dad's too soft with them; he thinks they're funny..."

Just then, the front door slammed.

"He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!"

We hurried through the garden and back into the house.

Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.

"What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned..."

Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

"Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly.

"All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," yawned Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental Charms, thank goodness..."

"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said George.

"Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it... Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle would admit their key keeps shrinking - they'll insist they just keep losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if it's staring them in the face... But the things our lot have taken to enchanting, you wouldn't believe-"

"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"

Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr. Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife.

"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was enchanting it to make it fly."

Mr. Weasley blinked.

"Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to do that, even if - er - he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his wife the truth... There's a loophole in the law, you'll find... As long as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly wouldn't-"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you wrote that law!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could carry on tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your information, Harry, Taylor and Lexi arrived this morning in the car you weren't intending to fly!"

Mr. Weasley stared blankly. "Who?"

He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped.

"Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us so much about-" again, it was like we were invisible. Of course he was the famous one...

"Your sons flew that car to their house and back last night!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I - I mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that - that was very wrong, boys - very wrong indeed..."

"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to us as Mrs. Weasley swelled like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom."

We slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. I just caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at Harry before it closed with a snap.

"Ginny," said Ron. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this shy. She never shuts up normally-"

We climbed two more flights until we reached a door with peeling paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM .

I stepped in, my head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and blinked. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Then I realized that Ron had covered nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying broomsticks, and waving energetically.

"Your Quidditch team?" said Harry.

"The Chudley Cannons," said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread, which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and a speeding cannonball. "Ninth in the league."

Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a pile of comics that all seemed to feature The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat, Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun.

Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on the floor and I looked out of the tiny window. In the field far below I could see a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys' hedge. Then we turned to look at Ron, who was watching us almost nervously, as though waiting for ous opinion.

"It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "Not like that room you had with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic; he's always banging on the pipes and groaning..."

Grinning widely, we looked at each other and exchanged a wordless understanding, than looked back at Ron and said together, "This is the best house we've ever been in."

Ron's ears went pink.


End file.
